


Twilight Lovers

by tristesses



Category: Original Work
Genre: Butt Plugs, Cold War Era, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Play, F/F, Light Spanking, Mentions Of Infidelity, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Secret Relationships/Forbidden Relationships, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 14:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10439655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: Evelyn and Greta go out on the town, then somewhere much more intimate.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).



> I had great fun writing this for you, havisham! Hope you like it!

Six p.m. sharp, and Greta was waiting for Evelyn in the small restaurant she'd picked out a few days earlier, when Evelyn had phoned her and told her she was coming to the city ("Greta darling, I'm in town and I'd simply _love_ to see you"), and to make a reservation for two at six ("Be a dear and find a nice place for us to eat"). It was phrased as a suggestion, but Greta knew better than to overlook the steel underneath Evelyn's silky voice. Men were fooled by that sort of thing, the exaggerated gestures, the sense of drama, thought she was just a lush and a flirt; Greta saw beneath that. Greta knew. Even if her handler hadn't informed her exactly what Evelyn was when she was assigned the mission eight months ago, Greta would have known she was special. She had an eye for these things; she knew secrets, could sniff them out like a hound. It was what drew the agency to her in the first place. 

_(Sitting in a room full of men with her new self sketched out before her on a bulletin board, red thread linking together disparate shards of a life she would soon slip into like a freshly-tailored dress; they'd given her the name Margaret, told her to go by Peggy. She wasn't a Peggy. This was important; she had to assimilate this new self, sink into her until every last fact and quirk was as engrained as if she'd truly lived it, and she—the woman they had created together—would never have been called Peggy. She nibbled on their patience like a mouse on cheese, pressing and pressuring without quite nagging, until they agreed; yes, she could choose a different nickname, Greta sounded like a good one. Did they even realize they'd been manipulated? Greta's bet was on no._

_Greta could go nose-to-nose with Evelyn. Peggy couldn't have.)_

Greta played with the napkin absently, a little nervously, rolling it into idle shapes. Evelyn liked to keep her waiting; she would waltz in ten minutes late and act like nothing was wrong, all smiles and cheek-kisses and that look in her eye that asked, _Did you do what I told you to do? Are you being a good girl?_ Much like her sweet-mouthed suggestions, the questions had a hard edge. Evelyn—and Greta, for that matter—was fond of the sharper pleasures in life, and on certain occasions, like this one, it showed.

Greta checked her watch. About ten past; Evelyn was due in any minute now. She was astonishingly predictable in some ways, though not in any of the convenient ones. And sure enough, she blew through the double doors of the restaurant like a miniature hurricane, clad in a vibrant blue sheath dress with a Peter Pan collar, girlish and chic, her eyeliner thick like Cleopatra's, her dark hair sprayed and teased into a bouffant. Tall—five foot ten in bare feet—and blue-eyed, with a straight, patrician nose, she and Greta could have been sisters.

"Greta, my darling, my love!" Evelyn was holding her arms out to her, clearly waiting for a hug. Greta stood, which she had been avoiding, and felt _it_ shift inside her. Her cheeks flamed, and Evelyn noticed; her smile danced wickedly as she embraced Greta and kissed her red cheeks like a European.

"You really must stop it with that affectation, you know," Greta said as they sat down. "It makes you seem positively un-American."

"Don't even joke about it," laughed Evelyn. "I'm as American as apple pie."

"Don't I know it," said Greta. "Shall we eat?"

They settled down at the table, looking for the world like a pair of cousins, or best friends. Appearances are deceiving. 

Evelyn's eyes were sharp and cold throughout dinner, though her plump lips were smiling; she evaluated Greta coolly as they ate. Greta matched her gaze for gaze. This was a careful waltz they danced; neither of them could afford a misstep, though Greta risked one more and more as the meetings multiplied.

_(Evelyn's grip on her wrist had been bruising when the penny dropped and they gazed at each other not as friends, not even as the lovers they would soon be, but as the equals they were: enemy agents on two sides of a war. How Evelyn knew, Greta wasn't sure. There was nothing so obvious as bloodstains on Greta's dresses or an obvious display of an unusual aptitude with weapons, but Evelyn's cold intuition had burrowed deeper and deeper into the Greta persona until Evelyn knew there was something lying in wait beneath it, something steel underneath all that silk._

_And then, Evelyn's hand on her wrist, those cold eyes slicing her open._ My target _, Greta had thought, her head empty and her body weightless. How naive she had been to assume she could pull the wool over the eyes of a sleeper agent with decades more experience in the art of espionage; how naive her handler had been to let her take Evelyn on in her own time, with her own methods._ She's going to torture me for information and kill me. _The thought was clinical, academic; the rest of her was floating, panic sunk so deep into her bones she could only stand there limply and let Evelyn do whatever she wanted._

_Evelyn kissed her. Greta never knew why; never knew what made Evelyn take the risk. She kissed back. She hadn't been able to let that opportunity go to waste. But somehow, four assignations later, the interrogation she knew must happen eventually still hadn't come to fruition, and the affair continued.)_

Evelyn took a bite of her steak—she ate it nearly raw, the plate dripping with juices—her eyes still locked onto Greta's.

"Are you wearing the jewelry I bought you?" she asked, chipper as could be, a cruel gleam dancing in her eyes. Greta's cheeks, still pink as they always were around Evelyn, flushed red again. She prayed for composure and lowered her fork gently to the plate.

"Yes," she said. "It's certainly…a unique piece."

Evelyn flashed her a grin. 

"You'll have to show me later tonight," she said sweetly. Greta's breath caught in her throat, and she nodded mutely. This was how it went with Evelyn; Greta was more than her match at business, but pleasure…that was something else. Evelyn's smile made Greta's stomach contract and her body squeeze down on the _thing_ she had slid inside herself earlier that afternoon, Evelyn's gift to her: a chrome object, like a dildo but flared at the base, accompanied by handwritten instructions detailing exactly what Evelyn's expectations of her that evening were.

_(Cut to Greta, kneeling on the floor of her bathroom at five p.m. that afternoon, her agency-assigned husband watching television in the next room. Her fingers had been sticky with lubricant and her hands shaky as she toyed with the rim of her hole, freshly cleaned and waiting for the shining plug sitting on a towel next to her. She had been soaking wet, dripping down her thighs, knowing that she was doing this for Evelyn, that later that evening Evelyn would be praising her on how well she had taken the plug, what a good girl she was. She doused the plug in lube and carefully pressed it against her hole. It stretched her wide, made her ache as it eased inside; she dug her teeth into her bottom lip and shivered as it slid home and left her irrevocably filled in a place she hadn't let anyone touch before. Standing carefully, for even the slightest movement made the plug shift and a moan slip past her lips, she presented her ass to the mirror and saw what Evelyn would see in a few hours: pert cheeks parted by the plug, a glass sapphire set in its base._ Blue to match your eyes _, the note had said. Evelyn did have a strange sense of humor._

_Then Greta had dressed in her favorite lingerie and put on a demure pink dress with a full skirt, strapped a .22 to her thigh, and went to her rendezvous with the Soviet agent.)_

Dinner came and went; Greta couldn't have told anyone what they talked about over it, nor during drinks afterward. She was too busy looking at Evelyn's hands: lean-fingered, expressive, prettily manicured but calloused in ways that belied her training. Greta imagined them wrapped around her wrists, hard enough to bruise, those pretty pink nails leaving livid welts down her back.

"Shall we go to my hotel?" Evelyn asked when the check had been returned and the bill paid. A cruel little smile played around her lips. Greta nodded wordlessly.

They linked arms as they left, like the best of friends. Greta knew better than to buy it.

* * *

The room was small and neat, done up in shades of red and white, with a fashionably eye-searing paisley bedspread and a bright red swivel chair next to the desk. Greta wiped her sweating palms on her dress and tried to ignore how it clashed with the décor; she had more important things to worry about.

"Come here, silly thing," Evelyn said, and took Greta by the shoulders and spun her around. "Let's get you out of this dress."

Her touch was so light Greta could barely feel it, yet she shivered as Evelyn eased the zipper down her back. Down, down, revealing first her bra, stark black against her pale skin, then her matching girdle with its floral lace inset. Her slip was black, too, embroidered with pink flowers that matched her dress, silky to the touch, and it hid her garters and the tops of her stockings. Evelyn's breath ghosted across her neck; Greta closed her eyes as her fingers skimmed her hips, traced down her thighs. Her hands paused at the noticeable bump of Greta's leg holster, and there was a moment when the other spy's body went stiff against Greta. Tension held Greta as straight as a fishing line pulled taut, until behind her, Evelyn relaxed again and chuckled.

"Leave business at home next time," she whispered, and bit Greta's neck as hard as she could. Greta hissed between her teeth and embraced the pain with a shiver. She knew she'd been walking a fine line, bringing the gun here, but it was solid intel: Evelyn cared enough about their arrangement to grant Greta a little leeway, though they were technically still enemies. It was good to know, useful information to have. At the moment, Greta couldn't care less.

With nimble fingers, Evelyn stripped the gun from its holster and placed it gently on the desk with the grace of a woman who knew her way around weapons. She unbuckled the holster and eased it out from under the slip, then dug her nails into the soft flesh right above Greta's knee and dragged upwards, tearing rents in the nylons, scratching deep enough to draw blood. Greta shrieked, muffled by her own hand clapped over her mouth, and twisted in Evelyn's arms, a bird trapped in a spiderweb.

"Now, now," Evelyn murmured in her ear, all the insouciance and gaiety bled from her voice, "don't squirm, dear. Take off these pretty things and show me the gift I gave you."

How could Greta do anything but obey?

The slip came off first, the silky fabric puddling at her feet. Evelyn watched, perched in the swivel chair, her chin in her hand and her eyes intent. The bra next; Greta knew how to tease. The girdle was harder to take off elegantly, the elastic stretching over her full hips, and when Greta bent over the plug within her made itself known, an alien fullness deep inside her; she bit back a moan and felt her underwear dampen. Behind her, Evelyn watched with statue-like patience. She would have been trained for that, Greta knew, just like Greta had been.

"Go on," Evelyn whispered when Greta hesitated. She was down to the last item, her underwear, the only thing protecting her from revealing not only the plug but how she was already soaking wet from just from this little game. But she could not refuse Evelyn's request, not tonight. She eased her underwear down and bent over the bed, wearing only her heels and the jeweled plug. She kept her eyes squeezed tight as Evelyn's appraising eyes ran over her body.

"Perfect," Evelyn commented, and Greta heard the fabric of her dress rustle as she stood. "You followed my orders to the letter, didn't you?"

"Yes," Greta whispered, and quivered when Evelyn ran her nail down the curve of her spine. Her hand stopped at the ripe curve of Greta's ass, then thoughtfully probed the plug, pressing it in deeper and then pulling it gently until Greta's body relaxed enough to let it go—but then she pushed it in again, fucking Greta with it, stretching her open, and Greta buried her face in the bed and moaned. Her clit throbbed, begging for a touch, but she didn't dare play with it without permission.

"Touch yourself," Evelyn said, as if she'd heard Greta's silent plea. Her hand shot between her legs instantly, and found the little nub that brought her such pleasure. She dipped her fingers further back, getting them nice and sticky with her own fluids, before returning to her clit and circling her fingers around the bundle of nerves, gasping every time she hit the spot that sent electricity sparking deep within her. She heard Evelyn's breathing grow hoarse as she squirmed, clenching her legs together, the plug shifting inside her. She thought, not for the first time, how _perverse_ it was, how _dirty_ , to touch herself there, to not only let Evelyn play with her ass but to ask for it. Yes, she was just following instructions, but—god, she'd loved it, easing the plug inside her, knowing how wrong it was. She could have come just from that, if Evelyn had allowed her to. Would Evelyn let her come now? Her body tensed, arching like a bow, and—

"No," Evelyn said, amused. She swatted Greta on the ass, a playful punishment, and Greta squeaked and withdrew her hands. Evelyn hummed behind her thoughtfully, and Greta went still, wondering what she would do. 

Another slap on the ass, not so gentle this time. Then another, and another—Greta gasped and squirmed and dug her nails into the sheets, buried her face in the pillow as the slaps rained down. She couldn't move—she had to stay still for Evelyn, take what she gave her—a particularly vicious slap, and Greta yelped, tears coming to her eyes and more wetness dripping from her cunt.

"You look so lovely," Evelyn murmured. "This blue—" she tapped the glass sapphire at the base of the plug, "—and your pretty red skin. Did you know you can see my handprint, right here on your ass?"

"Please," Greta said, the words tumbling out, "please spank me again—"

"Greedy little thing," Evelyn said, and took Greta by the hips and flipped her over, her lithe arms strong. Greta hit the bed with a little cry, but Evelyn didn't give her time to recover; she sank to her knees, still composed in that stylish blue dress when all Greta had on was her heels, grabbed Greta by the thighs with a harsh grip, and buried her face between Greta's legs.

Greta cried out and arched her back hard, her hands instinctively going to Evelyn's head, twining in her hair and yanking hard. Evelyn moaned, her first sign of discomposure all evening, and licked and sucked at Greta's cunt with single-minded intensity. She dipped her tongue inside Greta, lapping at her, then flattened it and dragged it all up her cunt to stop at her clit, tracing teasing circles around it. Greta spread her legs wider and bloomed for her, swollen and ripe. She ground her hips against Evelyn's face, all thought completely fled from her mind, intent only on the pleasure rippling through her like shockwaves.

"Don't stop," she was saying, incoherently, over and over, "don't stop, Evelyn, please don't stop—"

Evelyn sucked on her clit and Greta's legs clamped shut around her head, and then Evelyn pulled away, seconds before her climax. Greta whined before she could stop herself, and thrust her hips towards Evelyn's face pleadingly.

"No," Evelyn said again, and stood. Greta watched her dumbly, thinking only of the pleasure denied her, before Evelyn slapped her across the face and snapped, "Lie down."

Face stinging—oh, the humiliation of it all, sweet and sticky on her tongue—Greta fell backwards and scrambled up the bed as Evelyn came after her, eyes intent and hot as blue flame. She hiked up her skirt and Greta saw that she wore no underwear, only garters and nylons.

"Were you—like that—the entire time?" asked Greta, stumbling over the words, her face hot at the thought. Evelyn sitting across from her at dinner, bare cunt against her dress, Evelyn letting her skirt ride up in the train without anything to protect her from staring eyes. Greta had a brief, vivid flash of sinking to her knees in the back of the train and licking Evelyn out right there, so real she could almost taste Evelyn on her tongue.

"The entire time," Evelyn confirmed, and pushed Greta flat, climbing over her to straddle her face. She grabbed Greta's wrists in that bruising grip and pinned her hands above her head. "Do you like thinking about that? Knowing you could have dropped your napkin and taken a lick any time you wanted?"

"Can I take a lick _now,_ please?" Greta wanted to know, and Evelyn only laughed and lowered herself to Greta's face.

"Greedy," she said again, but the bite in her voice was stripped out by the gasp she gave as Greta parted her lower lips with her tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up her cunt, stopped just before her clit; Evelyn liked to be teased.

This was Greta's favorite part of their encounters, even more than her own pleasure or the mind games they played: the tangy taste of Evelyn on her lips, dripping down her tongue, hot and sticky on her face. She lapped at her like a woman lost in a desert would lap at a water bowl, putting her neck into it, desperate and yes, _greedy_ , just like Evelyn said, thirsting for every last drop of Evelyn's arousal. Tracing circles around her clit, she reached up and cupped Evelyn's breasts, toying with her nipples through her dress. They were hard and erect, and deliciously sensitive; Evelyn gave a throaty groan and ground down on Greta's face as she squeezed and pinched the firm nubs.

Enough teasing; Greta wanted to feel Evelyn come on her face. She curled her lips against Evelyn's clit and sucked gently, her tongue working with eager little licks, and was rewarded for her patience as Evelyn gasped and arched her back, hard. She dug her fingers in Greta's hair, yanking her closer, grinding against her mindlessly, taking her pleasure from Greta's mouth. At last she trembled and slapped a hand over her mouth, body going stiff as her climax hit her.

After a moment, Evelyn said, "Touch yourself," in a breathy voice. "And don't you dare stop licking me."

Greta did not dare. She went back to the slow, teasing strokes she'd used earlier, dipping her tongue inside Evelyn before dragging it up and around, around, sucking slightly, Evelyn's fluids smeared across her face, and snaked a hand between her own legs to find her clit swollen and aching. She fluttered around it with the tip of her fingers for a moment, stroking her labia, venturing inside herself to rub her own lubrication all the way up her cunt, then circled her clit with two fingers. Over and over, her fingers dancing, as the fire built inside her and Evelyn shook on top of her and then—

Then—

Greta cried out, muffled by Evelyn's cunt, and her muscles seized as pleasure descended over her in rippling waves. At some point, Evelyn came again; Greta was too far gone to notice.

And just like that, it was over. Evelyn, still breathing hard, swung off Greta and onto the bed, leaning back on her elbows, careful not to muss her bouffant. Greta lay flat, Evelyn's fluids glistening on her face, tongue sore, feeling drunk on the aftermath of orgasm.

"You'll have to go soon," Evelyn said after a few minutes had passed. Her voice had gone flat and clinical; the spy's voice, not the lover's. "Your friend will want to have a little chat."

Greta's handler _would_ be eager to hear how this meeting had gone, and inevitably disappointed when he heard of Greta's failure to pry information out of Evelyn yet again. Sometimes Greta thought it would be easier if he were the prurient type, interested in her and Evelyn's affair, and thus distractible; unfortunately, he would only look at her with cold eyes and tell her that time was running short, she _had_ to find out who Evelyn's contact was. And Evelyn…God only knew what Evelyn's handler was telling her.

"Let me wash my face first," she said, and rose to her feet. She made her way to the sink, acutely aware of Evelyn's eyes on her back, and splashed water on her face. The plug was still inside her, less arousing now but a comforting weight nonetheless. Evelyn's toy. Evelyn's scratches on her thighs. Evelyn's tongue in her cunt. How much longer could she put off her mission?

She put her clothes back on in a reversal of the striptease she'd performed earlier: underwear, girdle and ripped nylons, the thigh holster and the gun—her fingers flexed on the weapon, and she entertained a brief, nearly hallucinatory fantasy of drawing it and turning on Evelyn, set to complete her mission—then the bra and finally the slip, all under Evelyn's cool gaze. When she turned around, the other spy was there, holding out Greta's dress.

"I'll zip you," she said. Greta stepped into the dress, the full skirt flaring at her hips; Evelyn knelt behind her and helped to zip it up, caressing the curve of Greta's spine. A flutter against the nape of Greta's neck as Evelyn stood, her body pressed against Greta's back; a kiss? Surely not.

"Until next time," Greta said, and wished she could take it back. Evelyn looked up at her, and Greta thought she caught a flicker of regret in her eyes.

"Yes," was all she said in reply. Greta bowed her head, and left her lover, closing the door gently. The mission could wait.

But not much longer.


End file.
